


Devour You

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Fingering, Baby Boy Stiles Stilinski, Consensual Kink, Corsetry, Daddy Kink, Daddy Peter Hale, Derogatory Language, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Good Peter Hale, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, Orgasm Control, POV Third Person, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rutting, Stiles Stilinski in Panties, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: “And what, sweet boy, can I possibly do for you?” he purrs as he refrains from looking up just yet, content with putting up the false façade of nonchalance—if only to make the other stew in his lust a little longer.“I-I just wanted to see what you’re doing,” the voice flows through the room, small and childlike.Peter smirks to himself, a filthy thing that curls the corner of his lips.The boy is here to play.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 376





	Devour You

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this did not go the way I had planned—like at all. It ends a lot softer than what I wanted to write, and I have no idea how that happened.
> 
> As always I use Grammarly to edit my fics, but it's not the best help so there will be mistakes. I am also not overly confident with writing smut so don't expect magic, I'm just having a little fun.
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter is relaxing quite contentedly in his armchair, reading some trashy French romance novel when he hears the tell-tale sign of footsteps tiptoeing their way gingerly through his apartment. It isn’t until said footsteps stop at the threshold of the room where Peter is currently lounging that he notices the rapid heartbeat that accompanies them. This particular sound is one Peter has grown somewhat acquainted with—quite intimately he might add—over the last few months.

With one deep inhale, the rich, musky smell of arousal hits him at full pelt, and Gods, that deliriously thick aroma is another thing he’s had the astounding pleasure of acquainting himself with in the recent weeks.

Peter doesn’t bother looking up from his book; instead, he finishes the paragraph he's reading while simultaneously addressing the cause of such an intoxicating scent. “And what, sweet boy, can I possibly do for you?” he purrs as he refrains from looking up just yet, content with putting up the false façade of nonchalance—if only to make the other stew in his lust a little longer.

“I-I just wanted to see what you’re doing,” the voice flows through the room, small and childlike.

Peter smirks to himself, a filthy thing that curls the corner of his lips.

The boy is here to play.

Contrary to popular belief, Peter is a selfless man and is more than willing to put aside his current distraction in the form of suggestive literature to oblige the boy in his quest for something a little more _physical_ than the words on a page.

“Are you sure that’s all you came for?” he questions, voice dripping with faux ignorance. “Because, from the smell of it, you came here for a lot more than-” Peter's gaze rises from the novel in his hand, slow as molasses, but his words catch in his throat at the sight that greets him.

It isn’t often Peter is struck entirely dumb, but in this moment, his brain has seemingly short-circuited.

“Do you like it?” Sweet and coy are the words and Peters wolf rumbles low in his chest.

Peter looks his fill, eyes raking over the utter perfection leaning up against the wall on the opposite side of the room. He can feel his teeth itch in his gums, fangs threatening to extend as nothing but pure want washes over him. A sharp intake of breath clues him in that his eyes are flashing between natural ocean blue and fierce supernatural blood-red.

No doubt, to the human before him, he looks positively predatory. 

“Oh, baby boy, I love it.”

Peter places his book down gently on the side table, swallowing thickly as he only just manages to cling onto the tiniest string of control he has. He stands calmly and stalks across the room, eyes dark and mouth curled into a wolfish grin. He relishes in the little whimper he gets as he places both his hands firmly on the wall at either side of the human’s broad shoulders—boxing him in. The smell is more concentrated this close, filling his nostrils in its delicious, addicting entirety.

“Stiles, you look utterly delectable.” His fingers twitch with the need to touch, to explore. He curls his hands into fists, knuckles turning white with the sheer force of trying to keep them idle.

Stiles, his beautiful, stunning boy, is dressed in the most delightful white cotton knee-high socks with the cutest little frills and an oversized white sweater. All of which, on any other day, would be enough to get Peter harder than rock, but today, this gorgeous and cunningly intelligent boy is giving him a special treat. For there, tied taught around the lower half of his boy’s petite waist, atop the billowing fabric of the sweater, is a corset. A deep red, satin, and black lace-trimmed waspie corset and Mother Moon is it just the sexiest thing Peter has ever seen.

“Really?” Stiles, the clever little minx, looks up at him through his long, lush eyelashes while he nibbles his plump bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you gonna eat me up, Daddy?”

“Sweet boy, I’m going to _devour_ you,” Peter rumbles, dark and dangerous, letting his control slip, knowing it gets his boy quivering with need.

Sure enough, a visible shiver runs up the human’s spine as he whines shakily. “Please.”

Peter, unable to keep himself back any longer, lunges forward, his mouth latching onto Stiles’ throat, sucking a vivid bruise into the pale skin. He worries the tender flesh with his teeth, eliciting a moan from the boy. He leans his body firmly against him, chest to chest, groin to groin with one of his thighs positioned between the boy’s legs—a subtle pressure.

“What exactly do you want, sweet thing, hm? Tell me, use your pretty words,” Peter whispers against Stiles’ purpling flesh, tongue darting out to soothe the ache from his bites.

“I-” Stiles moans high in his throat, back bowing as he rocks his hips against Peter’s thigh. “I want you to make me come, Daddy. I-” he cuts himself off with a wanton groan, the sound going straight to Peter's core.

“And how do you want me to make you come, baby? Just like this? You rutting against any part of me that you can.” Peter moves his thigh closer. “Or do you want my hand?” He ghosts one of his hands over the bulge in his boy’s underwear, fingers stuttering as they catch on the fabric of not his usual boxer briefs but instead... satin panties.

_Gods above, this just gets better and better._

Peter growls, his cock painfully hard and leaking in his jeans. He takes a deep inhale to steady his voice, not wanting to give away just how affected he is. “Or would you like Daddy’s mouth? Hm? I could tease you with my tongue until you’re a writhing, sobbing mess, begging for me to let you come.”

Stiles twitches in his palm as his head lolls back, connecting with the wall. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

“That’s what you want? My mouth?” With Stiles’ frantic nod, he smirks. “On your hands and knees then, baby.”

Peter takes a step back to allow his eager boy to scramble to obey. He grips himself tightly to stave off the burning pressure building in his gut. This isn’t about him, not this time.

He watches Stiles get into position, groaning at the sight. Knees spread wide, back curved inwards as he leans forward on his forearms placed firmly on the floor. Not quite _hands_ and knees, but Peter isn’t going to complain about the technicalities.

He wastes no time in kneeling gracefully behind the human, indulging himself by taking a moment to appreciate every new texture covering his creamy, delicate skin. His fingertips brushing over luxuriously soft cotton, silky-smooth satin, and subtly-coarse webbed lace before his attention focuses intently on the boy’s round, pert ass.

“I have to say that _these_...” He runs his finger under the seam of Stiles’ panties—which match perfectly with the stark colors of the corset, “are delightful.”

Stiles wiggles his hips and giggles. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Hm, I think you knew fine well that I'd like them, you little tease.” Peter brings his hand down sharply against the boy’s right cheek, grinning as a blushing pink hue forms under his palm.

“Daddy,” Stiles yelps, surprised by the smack, but Peter doesn’t miss how his scent spikes, almost choking Peter with its potency.

“I’ve got you, baby, don’t you worry. Daddy will take such good care of you.”

Peter pulls aside the fabric barrier and dives down to lick a hot, wet stripe across Stiles’ hole. The boy jolts forward, a moan escaping his lips at the sudden sensation.

Peter grabs his hips, fingers digging into the slither of skin not covered by the corset as he holds him in place. “Stay,” he grits through clenched teeth, his wolf coming to the fore at the heavenly taste bursting across his tongue.

He keeps his hands tight on Stiles’ hips as his tongue plunders, licking and sucking, wet and obscene against the sensitive rim.

Stiles can do nothing but take it; his body vibrating with energy as he holds himself back from grinding against Peter’s face. But, he’s a good boy, so he keeps still as Peter laps at him like he can’t get enough. Like he’s a man starved. Stiles’ breath hitches, his hands balling into fists, toes curling as Peter’s tongue breaches him, fucking into him with unrelenting fervor.

Peter relishes in the sounds now filling the room, carnal and lewd—utterly delicious _._

It’s not long until Peter notices the familiar signs of his boy getting dangerously close to the edge, so he musters whatever control he has left to pull back. His face wet and glistening as he rubs his stubble over the boy’s sensitive skin.

Stiles whimpers at the new sensation, his hole fluttering as Peters coarse hairs scratch and scrape against him. “Daddy, please, I’m so close.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Peter coos, his breath fanning over Stiles’ sloppy center. “I can smell it on you, can _taste_ it, but I want you to last just a little bit longer for me... can you do that?”

Stiles groans, his legs shaking with his need to come, but he nods his head, his voice reaching Peter's ears through a hint of a sob. “Y-yes, Daddy.” 

“Good boy.” 

Peter runs his fingers through the wetness his tongue left behind, spreading his spit around before dipping the tip of the digit past the ring of muscle ever so slightly. Peter growls at the way Stiles’ body automatically grips at his finger, trying desperately to pull him further into the tight heat.

“Gods, Stiles, your desperate little hole will take anything I give you, won’t it?” Peter takes a second to marvel at the vice hugging his finger, his cock pulsing as he imagines the smooth velvet walls clenching around him there— _next time_ , he promises himself. “Such a greedy slut, aren’t you, baby?”

“Only for you, Daddy,” Stiles breathes out, and Peter pushes in deeper, eliciting a soft cry as he grazes teasingly against the engorging sweet spot inside him.

“That’s right, only for me.”

Peter dives back down, tongue curling around his finger as he works the digit in and out of the boy, hard. Stiles’ knees slide on the wooden floor, legs opening wider as his fingers helplessly scramble for purchase.

Peter crooks his finger, making sure to catch his prostate on every thrust. He pushes his tongue in beside his finger, licking Stiles open with everything he has as moan after moan rips from the boy’s chest.

Stiles cry’s out, and Peter can smell the salty tang of tears as he fights against his body’s aching need for release.

Peter knows just how much the pleasure inside him will be bordering on painful with how hard he’s holding himself back, how every muscle in his body will be clenching down to stop him from falling over the edge. He feels pride well up in his chest, his boy’s obedience setting off a spark deep in his gut.

After a few long, drawn-out drags of his fingers, he pulls out, giving one last lick before moving back once more. Stiles sobs, unrestrained, his whole body shuddering, pleasure lighting up every nerve ending before being denied its desired conclusion.

Peter turns the human onto his back, his hands stroking up the smooth fabric of the corset as he leans down to kiss away the tears streaming down his sweet face. “Shhh, little one. You’re doing so well for me, such a good boy.” He cups his boy's flushed cheek, his thumb gently caressing the heated skin. Stiles sniffles, nodding his head as he pushes into the soothing touch. “Daddy’s not going to tease you anymore, baby. I’ll give you what you need,” he whispers into Stiles’ swollen, red lips as he places a soft peck at the corner.

Peter goes to pull away, intent on giving his baby what he'd asked for, but nimble fingers wrap around his bicep, stopping him in his tracks. “K-kiss me, Daddy,” Stiles hiccups through the tears cascading down his face. “I-I need you close.”

Peter smiles fondly, his heart melting at the request. “Anything you need, baby.”

Peter lowers himself down, his body blanketing Stiles’. He keeps most of his weight on his elbows, careful not to crush his boy, only making sure there’s enough pressure against him to feel safe—grounded. Stiles’ legs fall open wide to accommodate him, his ankles curling around Peter’s calves to pull him close. His boy’s long slender arms circle his back, holding on tightly as if he’s afraid he may fly away.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” He covers Stiles’ quivering lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

He swallows all of the boy’s mewls, all his pretty little sounds as he moves his mouth against him in a sweet, euphoric dance. Stiles’ lips part as Peter’s tongue glides across the seam, seeking entrance. His fingers tangle in Peter’s hair, never pulling, never demanding, just a reassurance.

For a while, it doesn’t get more heated than this; they both take their time to enjoy one another, to explore one another. They're getting drunk on the taste, the feel, the _everything_ that is their partner. Their lips, teeth, and tongues duel in a sensual battle to be one, to absorb one another in their entirety, to eat up their very souls until there’s nothing left but the love they bear for each other. 

The earlier franticness of their desire dissipates gradually to make way for something more tender, more delicate. Stiles wants to feel him close, wants to know he’s cherished, and that’s precisely what Peter will give him.

They could've lain like this for hours, days even, and Peter wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have cared for the time. He’s content with giving his baby what he needs, diving into the deep euphoric bliss that comes with the sweet intimacy of just kissing him. He’s satisfied with laying atop the living room floor, showing his devotion to this beautiful boy with nothing but his mouth.

Stiles’ hips roll thoughtlessly as Peter nibbles at his bottom lip, his scent turning sickly sweet—orange blossoms and honey—as his cock brushes up against his stomach. Peter moves one of his hands down to the ditch in the boy’s lower back, using his strength to lift him slightly off the ground without strain, holding him securely. Stiles’ legs cling to him tighter, a moan leaving him as his hips rock in long, slow movements.

“That’s it, take your pleasure, sweet boy. Take whatever you need.” Peter doesn’t move, doesn’t rut against him, doesn’t seek his own pleasure; he just lets Stiles take what he craves from him.

He doesn’t kiss him again, just keeps his lips close, breathing in the same air as his boy gasps and pants. He watches, entranced, as Stiles loses himself in his pleasure. His pupils blown wide, cheeks a glorious shade of pink, and his expression changing with every flow of heat that coils through him. He knows Stiles is close, his hips stuttering slightly, his breath sharp and high pitched as he brings himself towards ecstasy.

“Can- please can I come, Daddy?” he pleads, his voice small and faint, almost a whisper.

“Yes, little one,” Peter rumbles. “Come for me; let me see you.”

Stiles shakes, his mouth falling open as he falls apart beneath him. Peter holds him steady, anchors him as he convulses through his release. Peter doesn’t take his eyes off him, not wanting to miss a single moment of his boy’s most precious state.

He rubs one hand down his sweat-soaked back, comforting him as he trembles through the last of his bliss. The other hand he tangles through the slick, brown hair at the back of Stiles’ head, mumbling soft praises against his chin as he calms.

Stiles’ arms hold him in a loving embrace, lifting his face to settle into the crook of Peter’s neck, trusting his Daddy to hold him there for as long as he needs. “I love you, Daddy,” he murmurs into Peter’s ear, sleepy and sated.

Peter smiles, his heart leaping in his chest as the words overwhelm him with gratification—with happiness. “I love you too, my perfect boy.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I have missed a tag or you want me to add warnings, please let me know. 
> 
> It's my first time playing with the whole Daddy thing, but it's something I imagine Peter would enjoy, so I just had to write something. I've also been dying to write Stiles dressed in lingerie, so I smashed the two together—it may or may not work but I just thought I'd kill two birds with one stone.
> 
> Drop in to see me on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com). Bring gifs.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
